things that help stave off suicide part the 2nd

Decayed Architecture. There is a certain sadness about abandoned buildings/industrial sites that calls out to me.  The thought that dozens, or perhaps hundreds, of men had, at one time sweated and cussed in the process of construction of the building which now lay in ruins. Did those men ever once think in between thoughts of  how they were  going to pay their bills or how they were going to have fun on Friday night after getting paid while the sweat was pouring down into and stinging their eyes on a particularly hot summer afternoon that one day in the future, perhaps even within their life times, that all their hard work would be for naught?

I try to not dwell on these thoughts when I see decayed architecture, I tend to let the stresses in my life briefly disappear whilst imagining that I’m in some “last man on left on earth” scenario or simply pretending that I am an archaeologist in some far flung future trying study what life was like on earth when the magic of life had died along Michael Jackson…

jareddriskill

things that help stave off suicide part the 1st

When life gets you down, sometimes the only thing that can pick you back up are the little things. The following is the first in a series about those little things that help stave off the self inflicted dirt nap. Not that I have feeling down or anything lately…

New Tire Fuzz. Yes, after you just plunked down hard earned cash that you barely have to replace a tire on your vehicle, you can fight off the feelings of dread caused by short term economic uncertainty ( how am I supposed to pay rent and buy the complete series of “The State” on dvd now?) by feeling the smooth caress  that only thin strands of vulcanized rubber can produce. 

Ohhh lovely.

jareddriskill

michael jackson tribute story

Like most people, I felt a low groan emerge from my lips (a disappointed ”aw fuck!” in my particular case) when I had first heard the shocking news that Michael Jackson had passed away unexpectedly at age 50.  Again, like most folks, I hadn’t given too much thought in the past several years or so about the fact that he was the greatest entertainer that this world had ever seen and that I had taken him (and his talent) for granted for far too long without giving the man his proper due.

Much like a person who had let a love one pass away without once telling them how much the deceased had meant to him or her, I became depressed and went to some random local watering hole to drown out my woes with cheap whiskey. So there I was, sat there in a dark corner of some cheap smokey bar nursing my second or third drink when a very attractive woman walks up and sits next to me.

She asked me what was the matter and I then related my Michael Jackson related sorrows to her. Apparently not listening to and/or caring about the source of my woes, she then said that she thought my hung dog expression made me “look cute” and she then continued a conversation with me to which all I could muster in response were deep sighs and wounded groans.

Without me realizing,  the woman had led me by the hand out of the bar, into her car and then her bedroom where she was trying her best to seduce me and all I could think about while I was laying on her bed, totally flacid despite all her best efforts, was how fucking awful it was that Michael Jackson had died earlier that day.